


A Christmas Story? Not quite so...

by lmirandas



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: But not of Christmas Past, Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Ghosts, Inspired by Groundhog Day, M/M, Mystrade Advent Calendar 2017, Non Dickensian Ghosts, Or Future, Or Present, POV Mycroft Holmes, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 08:17:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13072866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lmirandas/pseuds/lmirandas
Summary: Exhausted, Mycroft Holmes forgets it's Christmas Eve. Mortified when his friendly neighborhood Detective Inspector reminds him of the fact and refusing to attend his brother's now traditional Christmas gathering, Mycroft gets a visitor that tries to force him to seize the day... as many times as needed. How on earth will he get rid of a Christmas Eve haunting?Written for the Mystrade Advent Calendar 2017





	A Christmas Story? Not quite so...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crickette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crickette/gifts), [Alwaysgio221b](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alwaysgio221b/gifts).



> I want to thank [Mottlemoth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mottlemoth/pseuds/Mottlemoth) and [Egmon73](https://egmon73.tumblr.com) for all the hard work that they have both done for the calendar, hugs and kisses to you both.
> 
> This one is for my lovely beta [Crickette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crickette/pseuds/Crickette), who I can not thank enough for her patience and kindness and my best friend [Gio](https://alifetimeaheadtoprovethat.tumblr.com). I love you both dearly and I'm honored to be able to call you friends.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/141792829@N05/27379835829/in/dateposted-public/)

 

Another dreary London afternoon, not that he could see it in the bunker that was his ‘unofficial’ workplace. The walls were grey, depressing, and most of the time he didn’t notice since work was all-consuming and relentless, but the lack of interior design contrasted with his usual space at the Diogenes. Where he’d rather be at this precise moment, since his head seemed to be hammered by malicious pixies from the minute he woke up this morning. His usually perfect posture had to suffer because of this, and it was an unrecognisable man who was slumped now over his desk, trying to grasp the meaning of the conversation that seemed to be eluding him. The no-nonsense tone of Detective Inspector Lestrade, which he usually admired, seemed to bounce around his brain with no meaning whatsoever. He dragged his thoughts back from the blackness and tried to pay attention to the police officer.

 

“Anyway, that is the sum of the situation as it is. I would appreciate any insight you might have on it. As you can see, all the leads I have right now seem to point this way, and I didn’t want to overstep my boundaries.”

 

Mycroft rubbed his temples, a continuous motion since he answered the call from the Detective Inspector, increasing the pressure as the other man kept talking. He had been up for 36 hours, and even though he didn’t usually need that much sleep and secretly scorned those who did, apparently his head didn’t get the memo. His impeccable three-piece pinstripe suit, his usual favourite, felt like a trap today. His jacket rumpled and forgotten over a chair, now in his shirtsleeves, he felt a little less suffocated. But the pain did not recede.

 

“So, Detective Inspector, you want to know if the dead Russian you are investigating right now is still your jurisdiction or not? I’m a minor official in the British government; I seriously have no idea how can I be of use to you in this particular situation.”

 

“Mr Holmes, look, I’ve known you for the best part of ten years now. You are not a _minor_ anything, and I don’t want to play footy with your people, especially not tonight. So I will tell you once again, do I keep following my leads or should I expect a quick sweep from the men in black?”

 

Mycroft forced himself to open his eyes, looking at the door where the familiar sound of stiletto heels revealed Anthea, as usual, dressed to impress and with her eyes on her phone screen, while she started turning up a non-existent collar on her neck. The coded signal made him groan, forgetting the man on the other side of the line entirely.

 

“Mr Holmes? Mycroft? Are you okay?”

 

“Fine, Detective Inspector, just an unexpected visitor. I’ll arrange to remove the very deceased foreign citizen from your proverbial lap. Have an excellent evening…”

 

And just as he was about to face the unwelcome...

 

“Ta. I owe you one. Maybe a cuppa one of these days? Or something stronger? You seem like you could use a friendly ear.”

 

And here came the approach, always warm, as usual, so appreciated. The Detective Inspector had no idea of what the cold, detached Mycroft Holmes thought about their somehow frequent meetings for tea, which unfortunately had spaced a little after the Sherrinford Secure Facility incident. He was still too self-conscious about his failure there, and he always remembered whose hand had been extended to him, those dark eyes filled with worry asking that same question over and over again. Well, whatever his impromptu visitor brought, it was probably not good news, so maybe today he could throw caution to the wind.

 

“That sounds like a splendid idea. Would you care to join me for dinner today?”

 

“Today? Seriously?”

 

“I apologise, of course, it is too much of a short notice, we could schedule whenever you have a free evening…”

 

And now he was babbling, oh Gods in heaven, what was it about this man that made him act like a blubbering mess and not like the very controlled man who many have called colder than the ninth circle of hell. He rubbed his face, trying to clear his head so he could have a coherent conversation with the man, his usually well-coiffed hair was in disarray, the stray curl that he had to tame in every grooming process had already escaped its artificial hair product prison.

 

“Mycroft? Are you still there?”

 

Damnation, the man was going to think his mind was addled or worse, he would send an ambulance to remove his corpse from his desk. Not that Anthea wouldn’t take care of that. At least she will assure that his rotting carcass is retired from his office before it starts reeking. Probably.

 

“Yes, I’m truly sorry, got a little distracted, work, that is. As I said before, we can do coffee some other day.”

 

“No, no that’s not what I… Mycroft, are you even aware that today is Christmas Eve? Jesus, I know your job is really demanding but...”

 

Mycroft found himself wishing that some merciful deity would smite him right here and now. Now the Detective Inspector was going to think he was a regular Ebenezer Scrooge, or worse, the loneliest old sod in the isles. It was not that both statements could be classed as lies per se, but the thought of those brown eyes looking back with pity… better remove those unwelcome thoughts from the handsome man’s mind.

 

“Indeed, I’m afraid a nagging headache has prevented me from giving you the proper holiday greetings. I hope you have a happy Christmas. I’m afraid I must cut our conversation here, I’m required elsewhere. Have a good holiday season.”

 

“Mycroft…”

 

Pressing the ‘end’ button on his phone seemed like the coward’s way out, but he couldn’t bear anymore embarrassment. It was enough that he was so utterly inept around the man, now he had to go and make a fool of himself on Christmas Eve.  And with those dark thoughts roaming his mind, Anthea was again at his door, trying to stop his little brother and… oh, Gods.

 

“Mycroft.”

 

“Good evening, brother mine. Happy holidays.”

 

“I’m here to coax you into attending our parents misguided holiday celebrations.”

 

“Sherlock. We already talked about this.”

 

“Yes… but the answer you gave me didn’t cause me any satisfaction. You are family, Mycroft, and if you don’t attend because you are still in disagreement with mother, at least attend for my sake. If I have to suffer through it all until Boxing Day so do you.”

 

His brother had been more open in his affections for him since the whole Eurus debacle, which only made him feel guiltier for failing him. But he loved Sherlock. That was one thing he could never change.

 

“I see you are carrying your Goddaughter around.”

 

“I wanted you to meet her properly, not just view the occasional photo. Watson, this is my brother Mycroft.”

 

Her eyes were big and expressive, and she reminded Mycroft of her mother, not that he would tell his brother that. His relationship with John Watson was still in the earlier stages of healing, and a lot of therapy was helping them both. _Maybe he should try some_ , and he would, but security made things so difficult for him. He would probably have to send his therapist into hiding after treatment, and no one deserves that, no one who didn’t sign out for it in the first place.

 

“I told you before brother; I’m terrible at this.”

 

“No, you are not, I’m not falling for that lame excuse.”

 

Sherlock held the baby tighter like she was going to escape his hold somehow, almost like he was hiding behind her. His voice was lower when he spoke again next.

 

“I remember more now, Mycroft.”

 

He seemed to struggle with the whole ordeal as if he would rather be anywhere else than there at his brother’s office having this particular conversation, trying to distract himself from the emotionally charged words by playing with his goddaughter’s curly blond hair.

 

“You were a great big brother. You know how to take care of children.”

 

Mycroft smiled at his brother, a real smile now. He loved Sherlock as a baby and as a child, he was curious and smart. And the little pirate doted on _him_ , of course, which had no influence whatsoever in all the time Mycroft spent playing with him when he was a little boy.

 

“I promise I will keep to myself that you are human, Mycroft.”

 

“Yes, heaven forbid more people know about that, don’t you think Miss Watson?”

 

The baby rewarded him with a smile; she was shy, wary of strangers, probably inherited from her father’s side. It was a small victory.

 

“You will think about it?”

 

“I will. Now, if you excuse me, I need to finish here then.”

 

“It will be waiting for you when you come back, let’s go.”

 

“Now? I can’t possibly leave now, Sherlock.”

 

“Mycroft. It’s Christmas Eve. We have a small gathering at Baker Street, which I know you know about, and you never replied to my texts. You usually call me back and tell me you despise texting at least.”

 

“I still have a massive amount of things to do.”

 

“You have a migraine Mycroft; your eye is twitching. Now, don’t be an idiot and leave with me.”

 

“I’m afraid your guests will be waiting for you soon, brother. I promise to think about driving to the cottage tomorrow, but I can’t possibly leave the office now.”

 

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. His patience had grown in the last couple of years, but it was still thin. He was full to the brim with his usual manic energy, that restlessness that had lead him right into trouble all his life. The polar opposite of Mycroft, who carefully tried to control and plan every single aspect of his life. Even if he sometimes failed abysmally, mainly when things concerned his family.

 

“Fine. Keep acting like a Grinch. Maybe one day you could also get a dog to keep you company. You can call it Maximilian since you dislike diminutives so much.”

 

“Reading Dr Seuss now brother?”

 

“Rosie likes it. Especially the Lorax. I’m surprised you know about him.”

 

“There’s a trend now in information services. I got curious.”

 

“We might make a decent uncle out of you yet then.” A look Mycroft didn’t recognise, something mischievous, changed his brother’s features for a second, but it was enough for his very experienced sibling to catch. “Lestrade dotes on her, you know. He is going to bring her some things dressed as Father Christmas today. He is the only friend I have with whimsy enough to pull it off. Happy Christmas, brother. I hope you will change your mind and at least join us tomorrow.”

 

Don’t think I don’t know that you are trying to manipulate me into going to your soiree, brother mine. That it is almost working will be forgiven and forgotten. Father Christmas doesn’t have the swarthy coloring of DI Lestrade, unless Lapland had a new hole in the ozone layer, one that he was not informed about. Which was unlikely.  And yes, please, close the door on your way out. Mmm, Miss Watson placed something adhesive on the office intercom… probably the remains of some sweet or other edible, his brother better keep on check the little girl’s sugar consumption or Dr Watson was going to be up all night. Well, it seemed it was time to spread some Christmas cheer, even if he had to keep going in his usual toil.

 

“Anthea?”

 

“Yes, sir?”

 

“Can you come in for a moment?”

 

In a matter of seconds, his PA was at the door, holding her phone, waiting for his next command. She looked as poised as ever; his work would be so much harder without her efficiency. He got a little nostalgic on the Holidays, seeing all these young people working so hard, and it was unforgivable that he had not given any special reward to the very best of them.

 

“My brother just reminded me, it’s Christmas Eve today. I’m not an ogre, Anthea, please check that the rest of the staff excluding the security detail have left for home and then leave yourself. I believe this year I was a little distracted. Please tell me, the Christmas bonus?”

 

Her enigmatic smile lit her face in quiet amusement. Even if he had wholly forgotten his usual modus operandi for the Holiday season, he could trust Anthea to take matters into her own hands when distractions arose, so his reputation as a ‘decent bloke to work with even when he is scary as fuck’ would probably not suffer for this carelessness. He needed to give the woman a raise.

 

“Already sent to everyone, sir. Happy Christmas then.”

 

At least he could make his PA happy. She looked like she had plans for the evening. Which was good. Not like he couldn’t do a lot of the work by himself today. He must have some painkillers in here somewhere…

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The hours passed. His migraine had receded a little, barely enough to keep him functional. With his endeavours almost finished, he was startled when his intercom ringed, as it did when Anthea was trying to contact him. The low humming tone filled the empty bunker and resonated within his already painful temple. He thought he had sent the girl home hours ago, but she had a mind of her own and was as stubborn as if she had Holmes for a surname.

 

“Yes?”

 

Not a sound. Well, a chance to stretch his muscles and to see if a change in position could help with his headache. As he walked from his desk to the door, he shivered, suddenly the temperature in his office dropped. _Curious_. No one was out there. He expected his security detail was still in their posts. He turned back, surprised that the sight before him was prompting a fight or flight response. In front of him, the stuff of nightmares, something he thought he would never see in his lifetime, and probably proof that mental illness ran in his family.

 

“Uncle… Uncle Rudy?”

 

This was not what Mycroft was expecting, not only seeing his long-dead uncle on Christmas Eve but seeing his uncle dressed like _that_ . No one could say that the man was good looking _per se_ , but he had a particular flair and poise, and one of the greatest minds in England. Rudy Vernet was a very tall man alive, which he seemed to maintain after his death, but, to say that Mycroft had inherited his sense of dress from this man, now felt like kind of an irony. His face was warm and open, very unlike the usual facade he had to display at work, the way he only gazed in the privacy of his home at his only sister and her offspring. But his choice of wardrobe was _appalling_ . He had heard rumours while the man was living, but he expected better taste. The man’s ghost appeared in full drag, complete with Chanel skirt, probably a knock-off since he didn’t see the usual details of that particular suit and in such a garish colour, a harlot red, with golden high heels and pearls. And was that a _wig_? But if Holmes’ were good at something was maintaining their composure under pressure. Sherrinford incident and prudishness notwithstanding.

 

“Hello, my boy! I was afraid you might not recognise me. How is Christmas Eve treating you? I see it is very much like it used to be for me, work, work, work.”

 

“I’ve finally gone insane.”

 

“No, no, my boy, and I can say that after all that ordeal with my beloved niece you are quite safe of that.”

 

And the infuriating man kept messing up the papers in his well-arranged desk, disorganising his draft index and causing interference in his laptop. Which made him wonder if maybe this particular visit from beyond could be real and not just the product of a fatigued mind. It seemed unlikely.

 

“But…”

 

“I’m dead, quite dead, yes. And enjoying my afterlife as you can see.”

 

Well, his Uncle had been a colourful character. But red didn’t suit him; he should have tried pink instead. The pink version of the particular suit this one was trying and failing to emulate would be made of wool buclé, a tasteful strawberry pink and navy trim collared suit with the matching pink pillbox hat and white gloves. The lack of hat and gloves in his uncle was discomfiting, and her majesty would be distraught if she saw him.

 

“Look at you, judging my wardrobe choices.”

 

Stop reading my mind you blasted figment of my imagination.

 

“Remember who taught you how to deduce. People used to think I was mind reading them.”

 

“Let us think for a moment that I’m not in need of psychiatric help or dying of a stroke causing hallucinations. _Why_ are you here Uncle Rudy? If you are indeed happy in the afterlife, this can not be a tale of warning, as I’ve been telling anyone who cared to listen, I am not Scrooge!”

 

“I know my boy. This one is just an apology visit. And a little push for you to _carpe diem._ ”

 

“Seize the day?”

 

“You should have gone to your brother’s little fete. The nice inspector you like was going to be there too.”

 

“Heaven help me, now I know I’ve descended into madness.”

 

The man had the nerve to _tsk_ , a wretched spirit sent to torment him. He hoped that if these were his final moments at least, he would get a modicum of respect, and even that seemed to be eluding him.

 

A bitter ending to a terrible year, his holiday season ruined by an apparition from beyond trying to tell him how to live his life, which was _his_ , a thing that the meddling spectre seemed to have forgotten entirely in his joyful bonhomie of the afterlife. He had not sacrificed many things for Queen and Country to be judged by a ghost with lousy taste in women’s apparel, who seemed to want to linger in this haunting for a while.

 

_Oh no_ , he knew that face. Rudy was giving him his ‘I’m doing this for your own good’ look, which usually involved him telling on Mycroft to his mother. Well, he was already the least favourite offspring right now, nevermind his murdering lunatic of a sister. His only consolation was that Mummy never listened to Rudy when he was alive, it was only logic her usual behaviour concerning her sibling would continue in his afterlife if he tried his typical ruse. But instead of disappearing in search of familial support, Rudy just sighed and gave Mycroft a pained expression, startling the man more than with his initial appearance.

 

“Is it too much to ask for happiness for my dear nephew?”

 

“I am happy, Uncle Rudy. I have my job; I am in the way of getting back my brother. Maybe I can even mend things in the long run with Mummy and Father.”

 

Rudy kept pacing the office, his high heels clicking loudly on the floor and worsening his nephew’s already excruciating headache. _God, why heels?_ The man was already insanely tall. Surely he didn’t need the extra height. He finally stopped, the wretched noise ending with him, and he sat on Mycroft’s desk sideways, like a secretary from the terrible films the man in question liked to watch. Which were awful and misogynistic, and even more inflicting them on a family member like his uncle used to do do. Even so, it seemed the man wanted to continue harassing the only relative that still cherished his memory.

 

“But you forgot something important, son. You _deserve_ to be loved.”

 

“Sometimes we don’t get what we deserve uncle, and you know that, well, the real you that was not a product of a deranged mind used to be very much aware of that fact.”

 

“And you know you are a ridiculous child, you are just exhausted.”

 

Mycroft smiled at his uncle, both warm and genuine, a gesture that felt less foreign the more he practised it.

 

“You died too young Rudy.”

 

And he had left the world too soon in Mycroft’s opinion, not a month past his sixtieth birthday; it seemed like one day they wished him many happy returns and the next day he was shipped to France to rest with his ancestors in the family mausoleum. A very stressful life and a diet consisting of everything fried helped to pave the way for early heart disease, and a fatal event had him dying before his trusted assistant could get him medical assistance. Mycroft was eighteen when he passed, and mourned Rudy for a very long time. He lost with him his mentor and the most supportive authority figure in his life.

 

“I’m afraid I did, yes, comes with the job sometimes. I’m sorry that of all the things I could have given you as an inheritance this was the most problematic one.”

 

“Well, you left me the manor too, so I’m not resentful. I was, for a long time. Not anymore though. Happy Christmas, Uncle Rudy.”

 

“Happy Christmas, son. Now, time to wake up.”

 

——————————————————————--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sound was deafening, just beside his ear. _Perfect_. Just what his neck needed. Flat out on his desk and had a nightmare to boot. At least his migraine seemed to have disappeared entirely. And who was calling him at this wretched hour on Christmas Day?

 

“Yes?”

 

He managed to wince at his own snap at least, whoever it was, was probably calling because it was an emergency. No other reason to call at… _what on earth_?

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

“Anyway.... Mr Holmes? Mycroft? Have you been listening at all?”

 

The same conversation. The same request the Detective Inspector made from him this Christmas Eve. Because apparently, _it was Christmas Eve again_ . _Oh no, no, no, no._ Rudy, you devious goblin.

 

“Yes, sorry, Christmas Eve and all, I guess you want me to take that dead Russian from your hands?”

 

“What? No, no, I just wanted to check with you before we proceed. I don’t want to step on any toes, especially yours. Are you implying that I don’t want to do my job? Typical, Christmas Eve and insulted by a Holmes.”

 

As the man kept talking, Mycroft’s fountain pen started working on its own, scribbling in a familiar handwriting, ‘YOU ARE RUINING IT!!!!!!’ Capital letters and an infinite number of exclamation marks. He tried stopping the pen, but it was resisting, avoiding his grip and leaving a trail of ink on some critical classified documents.

 

“Infernal spectre! Leave me alone!” His yells could probably be heard all the way to Baker Street.

 

“FINE!”

 

“Oh, no, Inspector not…”

 

But the call had already disconnected.

 

“RUDY!”

 

“No need to yell, I’m right here.”

 

“Stop haunting me!

 

“Stop doing everything wrong!”

 

His phone started ringing. _Sherlock._ Probably to yell at him, since he usually preferred texting. He let it ring and go to voicemail, but it immediately started ringing again. His brother was probably distraught if he was calling a second time. Still, he let the call disconnect on its own. It was hard to keep his attention focused when a ghost of almost-two meters in height wearing a tacky skirt suit was glaring at you. Enough was enough!

 

“I’m not a child anymore!”

 

It seemed pointless, yelling to one’s imagination, but at least it was satisfactory.

 

“You are acting like one! Now, I’ll give you a lolly, and you go to sleep.”

 

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

What? _Again_? Cheeky ghost! His phone startled him, but he was feeling petty. He was not going to let a silly haunting trap him in a never-ending time loop. He had the feeling that if he didn’t change some of his previous decisions soon, he was going to be forced to revive this day, even though mercifully without a headache, for what could be an eternity. Rudy was not anything if not stubborn, and if he was able to cause this particular conundrum, he had no doubt he would inflict the same day on him until the end of time. But he needed to prove a point, whatever he was going to do, it was going to be on _his_ terms, so he took his phone in his hands and touched the ignore call icon on the screen. It felt _glorious_.

 

His uncle reappeared in front of him once more, shaking his head, but with an amused expression that reminded Mycroft of the reason why he once liked the man. At least when said man was living, not _now_ when he was torturing his living soul. Weren’t the ghosts supposed to be the tortured ones? There were centuries of literature to bear witness to that statement.

 

“Wrong choice, Mycroft.”

 

He didn’t even notice passing out.

 

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

The incessant ringing of his phone again, now, he was going to do something drastic. He opened the right drawer on his desk, trying to hide his actions from the spirit that he knew was still in the office. The temperature remained low, and, yes, his phone revealed that it was the Detective Inspector again. A quick check of the clock on the wall, yes, _earlier_ again. He decided to wait until the ghost appeared once more in front of him to continue his current course of action. The phone kept ringing and ringing, and he once again refused to answer, in a passive way this time. As soon as it stopped, his office phone started, and Anthea, on the other side of the door took the call. A couple of minutes after, his intercom started blinking, which he also ignored.

 

“You better answer that, boy, you don’t want that lovely assistant of yours coming in to check on you?”

 

No, but that would be a good plan. His plan, on the other hand, was reckless. Rudy was leaning on the wall across him, with a smug look on his face. He pulled the revolver he had concealed in his desk and aimed at his uncle. Who was then grabbing the wall, as he almost slid down it in laughter.

 

“Seriously? That’s the best you’ve got? Shooting a _ghost_? And one you don’t even believe exists? I already know, that even if I was alive, you don’t have it in you to shoot me, son. Remember, I was watching you on Sherrinford. The least said about the clown incident, the better.”

 

That statement prompted Mycroft to do what he meant to do in the first place and turn the gun on himself. Rudy started clapping slowly.

 

“I will give you points for effort my boy, but the lack of originality duly concerns me. But there’s no one and nothing you are sacrificing yourself for here, except perhaps your stubbornness or utter lack of sense. You can choose one. So, ta ta for now.”

 

The last thing Mycroft heard before he fell unconscious was the gun hitting the floor.

 

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Blasted abomination, this was indeed a demon, a tormenter, this was hell, and he was stuck in it forever in payment for all his crimes. The blasted phone seemed to be mocking him, again with its unrelenting noise. He touched his intercom and yelled for Anthea. Still, Rudy materialised, grabbing his hand, but he had already called her in.

 

“Tiresome. We can do this forever. I have all the time in the world.”

 

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Mycroft had lost count of how many times he had repeated this particular snippet of day, his Uncle forcing him to rewind and repeat. But he still refused to play the game. This specific time he pretended he took the call and mimicked that he couldn’t hear the Detective Inspector, which was a little cruel, but his captor’s face was priceless.

 

Now Rudy was the one rubbing his face in exasperation, smearing his makeup while he did that, pacing around while Mycroft tried to contain his smirk. He had started this nonsense just out of principle but started having fun, reluctantly, after the first dozen times or so.

 

“Tell me, what can I do or say that would make you change your mind, Mycroft Holmes? You are an insufferable prat.”

 

“It’s genetic, I’m afraid, from my mother’s side. Terrible thing.”

 

“Tell me the truth. You missed me, that’s why you are retaining me here. To keep you company.”

 

“Uncle Rudy, I didn’t ask for an eternal haunted workplace. I just refuse to play your games. I did much of that while you were still alive. And look what it got me. A broken family, a Mother who almost disowned me, just because ‘you knew best’.”

 

“That’s what you want then? An apology? Because I will give you one if you stop this and talk to the man as an adult.”

 

“I sincerely refuse to believe that the reason for this hallucination is your misguided desire to matchmake, like some deranged cupid!”

 

“As you say you are no Scrooge, I’m no matchmaker, son. I just wanted to give you a little push towards a chance at happiness. A friend, something more than that? That’s eventually up to you.”

 

And _that_ , that was what Mycroft wanted to hear. He had loved his Uncle dearly when he was alive, and the only things he kept now were memories and a vague sense that his mentor would’ve approved his choices. The reason this whole otherworldly visit had annoyed him so much was that it seemed to prove that wrong. His uncle was so worried about his decisions that he chose to leave a cosy afterlife in which he could dress like a lady to try and convince him to change his current route. And wasn’t that a jolly thought? Just in time for the yuletide cheer.

 

“Very well, as you can see, we can both do this until Kingdom comes or you can let me live my own life. As I told you before, I’m not a child anymore Rudy or a portly teenager in need of guidance and comfort. I’m my own man now, and I would appreciate the vote of confidence.”

 

“As you wish then, just let me…”

 

“No, no, not going back anymore, let me take it from here.”

 

“Fine, on your head be it. Put those problem-solving skills to use.”

 

Mycroft shooed the spectre out of his office, which caused Rudy to jerk his head back and put his hand to his chest in mock shock as he retired through the back wall, as if the latter was nonexistent. Dreadful ghost, levity didn’t suit him. The office was still cold, which meant that the nasty bugger was probably lurking to see what he was going to do. _Let him watch, then._ He buzzed his intercom, calling his assistant into the office. Anthea came in and shivered just slightly, darting a look around.

 

“Yes, sir? Quite a cold environment you have here, trying to live up to your aliases? You need me to call maintenance to fix your heating?”

 

“Cheeky girl, I hope you don’t think that will get you a raise on your Christmas bonus.”

 

“Oh, since I was the one who wrote said Christmas bonus I was sure to reward myself properly, sir. Since you seem to be at home here in this cold prison, you needed something else?”

 

“Currently Detective Inspector Lestrade is working the homicide of a member of the Russian mafia who was acting as an informant for MI5. Kindly aid the man by relieving him from the duties pertaining that particular investigation, through the proper channels of course.”

 

Anthea’s raised eyebrow made his mouth twitch just slightly, as she was probably aware of his attraction to said Detective Inspector, but the woman was nothing if not wise beyond her years, which was why that particular eyebrow was the only signal of what she thought about her employer’s bizarre request.

 

“And, Anthea?”

 

“Yes, sir?”

 

“After that, dismiss the staff for Christmas, including yourself of course. I will be leaving the office soon to attend my brother’s Christmas Eve gathering. Also, clear the rest of the calendar off until after the new year. I’m officially taking time off for the holidays starting now, and nothing further than an emergency of catastrophic proportions could bring me back here. Find the most exclusive gift for a one year old girl, the one that everybody wants and no one gets, and procure it for me, that and a new winter coat to the measurement of Rosamund Watson. And close that mouth, that look is unbecoming.”

 

Quickly closing her gaping mouth, his somewhat dishevelled assistant left the office, no doubt to start sorting out his requests and his agenda, which was the fuel of nightmares. Mycroft took advantage of the solitude once again and started fiddling with his phone. He sighed and continued with his plan since sometimes the direct approach was the ideal.

 

_Should I bring spirits to this party of yours? - MH_

 

_Why would you assume you are invited? - SH_

 

_Sentiment - MH_

 

_Bring wine - SH_

 

And now for the _pièce de résistance_ , the hardest part of his new convoluted path of action. He kept fiddling with his phone, finding resolve where there was none, grinding his teeth. It was now or never.

 

“Detective Inspector? Sorry about the interrupted call before, it seems I had little signal, how may I be of service?”

 

“Mr Holmes, thank you for calling me back, actually your assistant, you know, the scary one, just called and solved the problem I was hoping to update you on. She clearly knows what she is doing that one, didn’t let me say one word!”

 

“Then let me offer you a ride to my brother’s Christmas gathering this evening.”

 

“You are coming? Sherlock told me he was going to ask you, but I thought he was…” there was an awkward pause like the man needed to think better about his next words, “...but, well I’m glad you are coming. Sure, I just need to go and pick up a Father Christmas costume at the rental place.”

 

“We can do that on the way to the wine merchant.”

 

“Wine merchant?”

 

“Indeed, maybe we should something else to the shopping list, for the discerning palates in the gathering.”

 

“Does that include me?”

 

“What do you think?”

 

His ability to light this particular individual was one of his highest achievements in life, and, as he heard the rumbling laughter on his speaker, he couldn’t contain a chuckle of his own.

 

“That sounds great. To be honest, I am thrilled that you are coming, now I can make a fool of myself in front of an audience. I thought you were avoiding me, My…. I mean, Mr Holmes.”

 

“Mycroft. Call me Mycroft. And I remember I never properly thanked you for… for everything you did for me after Sherrinford.”

 

“You are welcome, Mycroft. See you soon then, should I meet you somewhere?”

 

“A car will be there for you soon, New Scotland Yard?”

 

“Please. And thanks again.”

 

Mycroft took his jacket, straightened his clothes and tie. Maybe a brief visit to his club to change was due. After all, it wasn’t every day when we secured the company of his…of a friend to a family gathering.

 

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

The lightning in the room was dim, just enough through his luxury curtains to be able to catch the reflection in the beautiful silver hair of the man lying peacefully beside him. The previous night was perfect; there was no other word for it. A perfect night in great company, enjoying a rare display of sibling comradery from his brother, who doted on his little girl, his brother’s… let’s go with partner…. was less antagonistic than usual and the Detective Inspector. He could not find words, even in his brilliant mind, to describe Gregory the night before. They enjoyed conversation, Mycroft flirting shamelessly with the man when he felt his advances were, heaven help him, in fact welcome. It seemed like family members, and also his brother’s friends, were conspiring, and when Miss Hooper pointed at the mistletoe hanging surreptitiously over their heads, which he was sure was not there before, it was an instant before he was being kissed out of his head by a cheerful detective inspector.  

 

And that had escalated. Since the world belongs to the bold, Mycroft took a chance. He offered a nightcap at his place, which the policeman happily accepted and after a continuation of the ‘snogging’ session they had at 221B, it had culminated with some very acrobatic sex, more than what you would expect from two half-drunk middle-aged men who couldn’t stop laughing. And after that, reassurances, more laughter and a slice of hope for two lonely souls. Now, the morning after, his thoughts wandering to how amazing this man looked in his bed. The temperature in the room dropped a little, causing Mycroft to cover more of his torso with his expensive blankets. Checking that Gregory was indeed still sleeping, he addressed the silent room.

 

“I hope you were not watching all night, you pervert. But just for the record, thank you.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Taking notes from my dear Mottlemoth, if you want to cast Uncle Rudy, look no further, Stephen Fry it is!! 
> 
> Come say hi on [Tumblr](https://lmirandas.tumblr.com) if you like. I don't bite. Much.


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